


When Decorating Your Kitchen, Always Go With Your Gut

by TheArtStudentYouHate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Mycroft's empty fridge, Mycroft's ugly kitchen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 07:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9373520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtStudentYouHate/pseuds/TheArtStudentYouHate
Summary: Mycroft was already trying not to feel terrible, so it only really made sense that the universe would decide to make his day even worse in the most embarrassing fashion.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Janto321 made me post this, so blame her. Also thank you to Beltainefaerie for betaing this.

Mycroft Holmes was a very posh man. He had an immense closet full of bespoke suits; luxurious silk pyjamas; and accessories such as pocket watches, handkerchiefs, and ties all matched up and prepared for any and all occasions. His closet was inside of a beautiful home, in a beautiful area of London. It was the very best that money could buy.

Of course that meant, Mycroft knew, that it had to be decorated by the very best. So, he hired the most sought-after  interior designer in the business.

The house looked like it had come straight from the pages of a magazine that one’s mother glances through wistfully while imagining how different her life could have been if she had married rich. It was gorgeous. Everything about it was very fine. The living room was formal, but comfortable. The master bedroom, grand and intimidating. His office, was professional, but dramatic, a fact he took a kind of pride in. (He wouldn’t admit it, but he secretly loved the giant chess pieces by his chair..)

Yes. Everything about the house was gorgeous. The bathrooms, the guestrooms, the garage, the kitchen… well. The kitchen he wasn’t too fond of if he was being completely honest. You see, it was rather dark and empty and with a hideous wall paper covering every square inch of the walls. But the very best interior designer had assured him that this wall paper was very stylish and when he saw the price of a single roll of the paper, he decided that they must know something he did not, (a rarity for him.) So, the wallpaper stayed.

It was no real matter to him, really. He so rarely used the kitchen to begin with. Much too busy with work and such. Honestly, his refrigerator was mainly there because a kitchen would look so odd without one, it was usually empty.

Mycroft Holmes had a taste for the finer things in life and could afford to indulge it in most everything he wished. Every area but one, that was.

Of course, he could afford posh food, but posh food takes time and effort to prepare. Time and effort he needed to dedicate to work. No. Mycroft Holmes was posh about almost everything and if you were to ask anyone who knew Mycroft Holmes, they would probably tell you that Mycroft Holmes would probably scoff at the idea of takeaway food and of drive thru windows, but Mycroft was only all too familiar with them.

For as much money he had spent on his house, there wasn’t any sort of attachment to it. Not the building or even the things in it, save the giant chess pieces. But, that was a good thing, surely. Emotional attachments only lead to broken hearts and rash decisions. Getting sentimental over inanimate objects was even worse. His house was a symbol of the power that he held. Somewhere grand to rest for the few hours that he wasn’t working. It was an emblem, not a home.

So if an empty kitchen with deplorable wallpaper was what he had to live with when he made one of his rare ventures into the kitchen, then so it was.

One day, at work it was brought to his attention that one of the divisions at Scotland Yard were working on the case of a murder. This would normally not be of any interest to him, but the unfortunate victim was a co-worker of his. Another higher up in his job at MI6, so it was up to him to take the case off of the police’s hands.

Mycroft checked to see who was leading the investigation and frowned slightly. Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade was heading it. Mycroft was quite familiar with the Detective. He had found and taken care of his brother when anyone else would have dismissed and ignored him. He trusted and… admired, yes, admired the detective inspector for his hard work and compassion when it was called for.

With that being said though, Gregory Lestrade did not like having his cases taken out of his hands. Anyone else on the force would be glad that there was less work for them to do, but Gregory Lestrade put up a fight any time it happened and when he eventually did get the case away from him, Gregory would sulk and he would soon get a series of texts from Sherlock complaining about having to deal with a grumpy Lestrade.

So with a sigh, Mycroft set off to go see Gregory Lestrade and try to find someway to take away the case and placate the man.

“Mycroft. Nice to see you. Sherlock’s not in trouble is he?” Gregory flashed a blindingly brilliant smile at Mycroft who was walking toward him at the crime scene. Mycroft had to make sure he didn’t inadvertently blush before responding. He didn’t want Gregory thinking that he found him attractive or something. It was merely a natural reaction to having someone be pleased to see him, when most people either froze in terror or tried to not roll their eyes at the sight of him. It was highly unusual to see someone smile at him.

“No. He isn’t.” Mycroft attempted to give a friendly smile back, but he wasn’t terribly used to creating the expression. Although Gregory didn’t seem to mind and his grin, in fact somehow widened.

“Just coming to visit me than? Well, that’s lovely. How are you doing?” Mycroft took a breath and another step forward towards Gregory so that they were a friendly, comfortable distance apart. Mycroft may not have much experience with humans, but he can understand their needs for propriety.

“I am well, thank you. Unfortunately, this is not a social call though.” Any hint of a smile dropped off his face and Lestrade’s dimmed a bit as he glanced down. Mycroft knew that Gregory knew this wasn’t a social visit. Mycroft didn’t make social visits, not in the decade or so that he and Gregory had known each other.

“This one of your cases than, is it?” Gregory looked up at Mycroft. He had to remind himself that he didn’t feel guilty for disappointing the detective.

“I’m afraid it is, Gregory.” He said quietly.

“I hate when this happens. I’ll never hear about this case ever again. I’ll never get to know what happened to them. Most of the time they don’t even show up in the obits.”

“It is the way things must be though, Gregory. We can’t be too careful.” Mycroft was trying to figure out how to wrap this conversation up.

“Is it the same way for everyone who works with you? Will your name not even get a mention in the paper when you go?” Greg looked a bit sad. Mycroft was taken aback.

“Getting my name in the newspaper isn’t a concern of mine,” he said, finally. “I’m sorry. I must get going. MI6 will be here soon, so it’s best to get the information you’ve gathered so far together for them. Good day, Detective Inspector.” Mycroft didn’t wait to turn around and begin walking away from the crime scene.

Mycroft was already trying not to feel terrible, so it only really made sense that the universe would decide to make his day even worse in the most embarrassing fashion.

You see, the crime scene was in the middle of a grassy field and this being London, it had rained quite heavily the previous night, so the ground was quite saturated with water and the soil had turned to muck. Muck that not only stuck to incredibly expensive leather shoes, but that also made it very slippery to walk.

Mycroft was trying to walk away as quickly as possible and so did not notice the patch of muck that had no grass or anything to prevent slipping. He of course stepped right into the patch and slipped, landing on his ankle.

“Mycroft!” Greg hurried towards Mycroft, who was in such a state of shock, had not even attempted to get up yet. “Mycroft. Are you ok?” Greg kneeled in the mud to see to Mycroft.

“Yes. Yes. I’m fine. I just need to OW! Damn!” Mycroft gripped Lestrade’s shoulder hard.

“Your ankle. Here, let me help you get it seen to.” Gregory looked so concerned, at least what Mycroft could see through his squinted eyes, grimacing in pain.  

Lestrade stood and bent down and placed Mycroft’s hands on his shoulders while his arms went around him to pull him up. It did not escape Mycroft’s notice that this was rather like a big bear hug.

“Alright. Here we go.” Greg pulled Mycroft up and towards him, which caused Mycroft to lean his head on his shoulder, his face pressed into his neck.

“There. How are you doing? Let’s get you somewhere to look at your ankle.” Gregory was holding Mycroft’s shoulders gently. Meanwhile, Mycroft was attempting to keep all of his weight off of his right foot by keeping a close hold on Lestrade and trying not to focus on how good he smelt.

“Really. I’m quite fine, Gregory. I just need… to … ugh get to the car.” They had both turned to walk away from the crime scene and the small crowd that had gathered to see if they could help. Mycroft leaning on Gregory for support.

“Here. Stop. Just sit here a moment and we’ll see if I need to get you to hospital.” Greg began to help Mycroft sit on a park bench away from the crime scene.

“Oh, surely I don’t need anything so drastic. It’s merely a sprained ankle.”

“Stop complaining and let me look. Now. This is going to hurt, but we have to get your shoe off.” Greg got down on his knees again and gently lifted Mycroft’s foot, placing it in his lap. He slowly and carefully undid the shoelace and completely took it out of the shoe, bending the tongue back as wide as possible to make as much room for Mycroft’s foot to fit through.

“Here we go. Ok.” Gregory very slowly and cautiously, watching Mycroft’s face removed the shoe. Mycroft winced, but was grateful for Greg’s experience with this sort of thing. Gregory rolled down his sock and cradled Mycroft’s foot in his large work weary hands. Mycroft noticed how warm they felt on his cool skin.

Greg grimaced. “This doesn’t look great.” Mycroft looked down at his already swollen and purple ankle. “Here” Greg gently prodded at his ankle, trying to assess whether it was broken.

“So, you probably don’t need to go to the hospital but you will need to stay off it and get some crutches.”

“I have some at home.”

“Ok. Donovan! Get me the tensor bandage out of the first aid kit, please. Also, MI6 is on their way. Get everything ready for them and then head on out. I’ll take care of Mr. Holmes here.”

“Gregory there’s no...”

“Oi. None of that. You’ve really hurt that ankle. Let me wrap it up for you and I’ll help you get home safely.” It was then that Donovan came over with the bandage.

“Here, Sir. Everything is just about ready for MI6 after they get here, I’m going to head home. You need a ride?”

“No. I’m going to make sure Mr. Holmes gets home safely. You take care, Donovan.”

After he delicately wrapped up his ankle, Greg looked up at Mycroft. “Here. Let me help you up and into your car.”

Mycroft knew when a battle was lost and nodded his head and wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

Very slowly, they hobbled back to the car and Greg helped Mycroft get in before getting in himself.

The car ride was fairly quiet. Every once in awhile, the car would hit a bump in the road and Mycroft flinch and Greg would look at him with concern written in his dark, brown eyes.

Finally the car pulled up to Mycroft’s house and Greg helped him out of the car. They limped up the stairs together and Mycroft leaned on Greg heavily as he unlocked the door. Lestrade helped Mycroft sit on the bench by the front door and removed his other shoe for him before they moved through to the living room.

“I really must apologise for being so bloody clumsy today. I can assure you that I never meant to cause this much trouble for you today.”

“It’s no trouble, really.” Greg smiled at him. “Nobody waiting for me at home and I like making sure that you get home safe. Now. It’s supper time. Why don’t I go find you something to eat and then we’ll get you ready for an early night?”

“That’s too much, Gregory, honestly.”

“Won’t be a minute. I’m a god awful cook. I’ll just heat up a tin of soup real quick.” Before Mycroft could protest, Greg dashed off to the kitchen.

***

Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade had honestly and truly been quite pleased to see Mycroft Holmes come to his crime scene earlier that day. He had always like the elder Holmes brother ever since meeting him for the first time at the hospital when Mycroft had sat beside Sherlock the entire night, holding Sherlock’s hand and pushing his hair out of his face. That turned to fondness, the more they talked when they had their brief meetings to talk about Sherlock and it wasn’t very long after that that Greg had to admit that he quite fancied Mycroft Holmes.

So even though Greg had known as soon as he saw him that he was coming to take this case out of his hands, he couldn’t help but try to make Mycroft smile when he talked to him.

And then of course he buggered it right up by getting completely morose talking about what happens in these cases, but Mycroft almost made up for it when he said his name.

It had taken a while to convince Mycroft to call him by his first name. Even then, he had expected that he would call him Greg, like everyone else does. But no, Mycroft "Fancypants" Holmes calls him Gregory.

Every time he says it, Greg has to fight the urge to shiver. He could live on hearing that and that alone. He wanted to bathe in it. Taste the air that comes from Mycroft’s lips as he says it. He wanted to hear every which way Mycroft could possibly say those three little, insignificant syllables and the way he said it today was in a way that he had never heard it before. A very small “Gregory” that almost made it sound like he cared. Greg could just about imagine it.

But, of course, Mycroft didn’t feel that way and Greg had only made him feel awkward before he practically fled from Greg. He felt like a prick. Who mentions that to someone they like? Apparently Greg Lestrade does. Greg was just about to turn around when he looked one more time at Mycroft, just in time to see him slip and fall.

Greg was over there before he even realised that he moved his legs. Mycroft looked like he was in pain and he couldn’t stand it. So, before he could think about what he was doing he was on his knees, in the mud helping him wrap his arms around him and hauling him up. He could feel his nose and lips pressed against his collar as he pulled him to him and wanted to hold him there forever, but then he was helping him to the bench and helping remove his shoe and holding his delicate foot in his rough, calloused hands and telling Sally that he was going to bring Mycroft home.

The car ride had taken too long for Greg, who at the smallest bump in the road would automatically glance at Mycroft to make sure that he was okay. It was just a sprained ankle. A bad sprain, but nothing life threatening. Why on earth was Greg so concerned?

They had finally arrived at Mycroft’s house, the whole time Mycroft leaning into him as Greg helped him to the living room. He couldn’t help but notice what a lovely house it was. So stately and posh. But then Mycroft winced again and Greg’s attention was immediately back on Mycroft.

 _“I’ll just heat up a tin of soup real quick,”_ he said before running off to the kitchen.

As beautiful as the living room was, there was something terribly off about the kitchen. Which is odd, right? Kitchens, may not always be beautiful, but they usually feel lived in. This one felt like no one had been in here for a week. The wallpaper made it seem like it was a dungeon and the fridge was covered in takeaway menus.

Actually that bit made him smile. His fridge looked exactly the same. He wasn’t lying when he told Mycroft that he was a god awful cook.

He made his way towards the fridge and opened it to find… nothing. Not a single thing save a bottle soy sauce and half a container of take out that looked like it had been sitting there far too long.

Well… no matter. Sure it wasn’t healthy, but Greg’s fridge always looked a bit sparse. He didn’t even need the fridge really. He was going to heat up soup. That’s kept in the pantry. So he quickly glanced around and found what looked like the pantry. He opened that up to find… nothing except for a few cans of tuna that seemed to have a layer of dust on them.

“Christ, My.” Greg ran back to the living room to find Mycroft with his foot propped up and staring off into space while twiddling his thumbs.

“Mycro…”

“Yes. I was going to tell you, but you ran off…” The sentence didn’t really end, just sort of petered out.

“Right. Well, uh, there’s a Sainsbury’s I noticed ‘round the corner. I’ll be back in a tick.”

“Gregory, honestly. This really is too much.”

“My. You’ve gotta eat something. Please. I’ll just be a moment.”

Mycroft was so distracted with the fact that Gregory had given him a nickname that he couldn’t even try to argue. “At least take my card then. Please?”

Greg gave a fond smile and nodded. “Fine. I’ll use your card. Just because I know that your body will need nutrients to heal that ankle. Did you need me to get you any painkillers?”

“Perhaps. I can’t remember if I’ve stocked my medicine cabinet.”

“Right. Won’t be a mo.” Mycroft reached into his pocket and grabbed his card and handed it to Greg before he could run off again.

“There’s a spare key hanging by the door. Take it.” Mycroft yelled out before he could leave.

As soon as the door closed, Mycroft let his head fall back and groaned. His ankle really did bloody hurt. It was huge and swollen. He’d have to stay off it for awhile. How on earth was he supposed to work? He suddenly remembered that he had an ice pack in his freezer.

With a sigh and a grunt he hobbled to the freezer, using his umbrella as a makeshift cane.

Opening the freezer was almost as embarrassing as slipping and falling on his arse, because the freezer was about as bare as his fridge and pantry. A bag of peas, a bag of frozen chips, and an ice pack were the contents of his freezer. As he grabbed the ice pack he remembered that he did have some painkillers. From that root canal a while back. They were in a hidden safe so Sherlock wouldn’t know about them. They were some leftover T3s.

He really shouldn’t, but they were expired so they may have lost some of their potency. His ankle suddenly sent a shot of pain up his body. _“Fine.” He thought, “I’ll take the bloody medication.”_

Hobbling and crawling up the stairs to his room, hidden under the ridge of the fireplace was a button that moved one of the paintings on the wall to reveal a safe. Limping to the safe, he punched in the number and opened the door. The safe didn’t hold much. A firearm with a suppressor, a few top secret files, and… and Greg’s old wedding ring.

He didn’t even really know why he had it. He had had a brief meeting with Greg the night that Sherlock had called him to tell him that they would find Irene Adler dead. Greg had seemed a bit distracted then and had finally revealed that Sherlock told him that his wife was cheating on him again.

_“Don’t know why I bothered trying to make this work. Obvious she doesn’t want to.”_

_Greg worked the ring off his finger and threw it off into the alley they were standing in._

_“Yeah. I’ll keep an eye on him. Not his fault. Sorry ‘bout this Mycroft.”_

Mycroft had quickly gone and retrieved the ring and it had sat in the safe ever since.

Mycroft shook his head and quickly grabbed the bottle of pills and dry swallowed one. He looked around. The thought of trying to get down the stairs made Mycroft wince, so he decided to stay upstairs.

He started to undress and then got distracted by a text from Sherlock.

-Heard that you fell flat on your arse today. Thank God your knight in shining armour was there to help you.-

Mycroft rolled his eyes and set his phone down. He was going to put on some pyjamas, but the closet was on the other side of the room and his ankle was still in pain and he was beginning to feel sleepy. So he just crawled under the covers.

He heard the gentle sound of the door opening as Greg made his way back inside.

“Mycroft?” He heard him yell to the living room. Mycroft didn’t want to yell back so he grabbed his phone.

-I’m in the bedroom.-

-Ok. Am going to put the food away and heat up the soup. I’ll bring it up to you. Are you ok?-

-Yes.-

Mycroft gave a soft grin and relaxed into the pillow. The medication was beginning to kick in and his ankle didn’t hurt quite as badly with the ice pack on it. He dozed off slightly as he waited for Greg.

Meanwhile, Greg had put away the food and was heating up the vegetable soup. He was also looking for something to put the flowers he had bought in. He felt a bit ridiculous getting them and almost immediately regretted buying them, but he had them now, so he might as well give them to him. He couldn’t find a vase, so he just grabbed a tall glass and put them in there with some water.

The soup was warm so he grabbed a bowl and spoon. He put that on a tray with the flowers and a glass of water and bottle of ibuprofen.

He smiled when he saw Mycroft dozing. He tried to be very quiet as he set the tray down on the side table but Mycroft stirred and gave him a sleepy smile as he woke up.

“I fell asleep.”

“Yes, you did.” Greg smiled. “Do you want to sleep some more or eat your soup.” Mycroft’s lips pursed in thought.

“I… waaaaannnttt… soup,” he said finally.  

Greg gave him a confused smile. “Alright. Let me help you sit up then.” Mycroft flung up his arms, almost looking like a small child asking for a hug. Greg chuckled and wrapped his arms under him. Mycroft enfolded his arms around Greg and instead of sitting up, pulled Greg down for a hug.

“You smell nice.” Mycroft mumbled into his neck.

“Umm. Thank you. Mycroft?”

“Call me ‘My’ again.”

“Uh. Ok. My?” Mycroft smiled. “My? Are you feeling alright?”

Mycroft gave a big, exaggerated nod.

“Did you take something? You’re acting a bit… different.”

Mycroft whispered, “I remembered I had some T3s. Shhhhhhh. Don’t tell Sherlock.” Greg pulled back again and gently pushed Mycroft’s hair out of his face. Mycroft leaned into the touch. “Can you tell me where they are, My?” Greg whispered.

Mycroft nodded again and pointed at the safe he hadn’t covered. Greg pulled away and Mycroft frowned slightly but didn’t protest.

“Can you tell me the number for the safe? I just want to make sure that the T3s are ok. I got you some other medicine to take instead. How does that sound?” It sounded like Greg was taking care of a small child.

“Sounds good, Greeeggooorryy.” Mycroft gave him a dopey grin. “You love taking care of people.”

“Yes, I do. Why I became a police officer.”

“You take care of Sherlock aaaannnnnddd now you’re taking care of meeeee.”

“I am. So could you tell me the number for the safe.”

“It’s 52… uh 16… and um 3, no, 45. But don’t tell anyone.”

Greg shook his head slightly and opened the safe. He ignored the gun and files and grabbed the bottle of pills as a glint of gold caught his eye. He looked a bit closer at it and thought it looked familiar.

“Mycroft?”

“My. Call me My.” Mycroft pouted.

“My?”

“Yes, Greeegggooorryyy.” He giggled.

“My? Where did you get this ring from?”

“You threw it. Remember? Ssshheee wash cheating on youuuuu and you threewww it. Ssshheee washn’t nice.”

“Why do you have it though?”

“I wash worried you’d missss it. It wash speeecialll.” Greg smiled fondly.

“Thank you, My. But it’s not special anymore. She isn’t special anymore.” Mycroft looked at him with big eyes.

“Nooo?”

“No. She’s not. Not anymore.”

“Who ish speeeciall then?”

Greg had moved back and was kneeling by the bed. He took Mycroft’s hand and was gently rubbing the back of it.

“Well, Sherlock is special and John is special because he helps take care of Sherlock. And you’re special because you take care of Sherlock and the rest of this country.” Greg grinned at him.

“That meansss that you’re specialll toooo because you take care of Sherlock.”

“Well thank you, My. Now why don’t you sit up and eat your soup?” Mycroft nodded and Greg finally managed to help him sit up.

After he had finished his soup, Greg put the bowl off to the side and handed him the glass of water. He didn’t mention the flowers.

“How are you feeling now, Love?” His eyes widened in fear when he realised what he just said, but Mycroft merely grinned and relaxed back into the pillows.

“That’s another nice name. Love. I like it. I like when you call me My and when you call me Love.”

“Alright then, Love. Why don’t you snuggle back and sleep for a little while? Can I get you anything?”

Mycroft vehemently shook his head. “No. Just stay right here.”

Greg looked nervous for a moment. “Okay then, My. I’ll just sit in that chair, then.”

Mycroft shook his head again. “Noooo. You said to schnuggle and you can’t schnuggle by yourself, so now you have to schnuggle with me.”    

“I don’t know, My. I don’t want to hurt your ankle.”

“You won’t beeecause you’ll be on myyyyy… left? Left side and my right ankle is the one that hurts.”

Greg looked down at his still muddy trousers. “I’m still all muddy.” He was grasping at straws. He knew that lying in a bed with this man would not help his infatuation.

“Well, then take your trousers off.” Mycroft giggled. “I won’t mind. I’m practically naked under here.” He blushed and attempted to wink.”

Greg blinked and pulled his lips into a thin line. “Do you maybe have some pyjama bottoms that I could borrow?” Greg knew he wasn’t getting out of this, but he was going to do this with as much dignity as possible.

“Party-pooper. They’re in the closet.” Mycroft vaguely gestured towards the closet doors.

Greg bolted towards the door and as soon as he closed them leaned back against them and breathed a sigh of relief.

It was incredibly dark inside and he awkwardly groped for the light.

For Mycroft’s kitchen being so empty, his closet was brimming full with beautiful things. Things that Gregory didn’t even want to touch for fear of ruining them. He stepped as carefully as he could towards what looked to be the pyjamas. He gingerly looked through them until he found a pair that didn’t look quite as fancy and would probably fit. He pulled them on.

They fit a bit tighter than they should, but needs must. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Oh Gregory.” Mycroft’s voice had dropped a few octaves. “You look very fetching in purple.”

Greg gave a short, sharp nod. “Uh, right. Ok.”

Greg walked around to the left side and clambered onto the bed over top of the covers. He made sure to leave some space between them.

“That’s not how you schnuggle Gregory. Even I know that and I’m the ‘Icshe-man.’ Get over here.”

“You’re not the ‘Ice-man’ My.” Greg said as slid in closer to Mycroft.

“That’sh what they call me.” He replied quietly as he wriggled his arm under Greg to convince to roll into him and finally “schnuggle” properly.

Greg relented and cuddled up to Mycroft’s side and fell asleep.

***

When Mycroft woke up the next morning, he felt incredibly groggy, but ridiculously comfy. His bed had never felt this warm. He registered that his ankle hurt, but he didn’t want to move. That was when Greg shifted and snorted.

Mycroft froze.

“Mmm Mycroft?” Greg slowly opened his eyes. “Oh. Mycroft! Uh! I wasn’t supposed to stay this long. I mean… I was going to make sure that everything was ok and then go… I uh… you asked me to stay?” Greg had put as much space between the two of them that he could.

“I did, didn’t I. Gregory, I apologize for my behaviour yesterday. It was completely unacceptable from what I can remember of it.”

Greg grinned slightly. “What do you remember?”

“I believe the last thing I remember is you… uh… I don’t remember much past finishing the soup.” Greg gave a sigh of relief. Mycroft didn’t think it necessary to tell him that the last thing he remembered was Gregory calling him ‘Love.’

Mycroft looked away in embarrassment. “Oh. You got me flowers. I hadn’t noticed.”

Gregory had completely forgotten about the flowers. “Yeah. I, uh, well you’re leg and uh,”

“They’re beautiful. Thank you.” A lovely flush spread on Mycroft’s face.

Greg rubbed the back of his neck. Mycroft’s mouth suddenly went rather dry.

“Hey. So, um, it’s my day off today and I don’t have to stick around all day or anything and if you don’t want me to stay at all just say, but your ankle is still going to be pretty bad and maybe I could just make you some breakfast? You must be hungry.”

 _Gregory looks so adorable when he’s nervous._ Mycroft absolutely did not think.

“I am a bit. I don’t think I can really make it into the office today. I won’t be very good company. I have some work I’ll have to do at home, but…”

“I don’t mind that! I mean. I’ll just make some breakfast and you can work and rest.”

“That would be… nice. I’d like that.” Mycroft nodded and smiled softly.

“I hate to ask but do you maybe have a toothbrush or something? Or! Uh. Do you need help going to the washroom? God, I feel like a prick. I should have asked you first.”

Mycroft was just about to respond when his bedroom door swung open.

“Here you are, Sir. I went and found the crutches. I also cleared your schedule for the day. There’s just a few forms here to sign and initial.” Anthea held out the forms and a pen. Mycroft put on his reading glasses and quickly signed away on everything. “And that should be everything. Detective Inspector, here’s a new toothbrush, a new set of clothes and any other toiletries you may need. I’ll be quite busy for the day, so if you wouldn’t mind taking care of Mr. Holmes for me?” She looked at him expectantly.

Greg gaped a moment. “Uh. Yeah. Yes. Of course I will.”

“Thank you, Anthea. That was most helpful.” Mycroft was carefully avoiding Greg’s gaze. Greg couldn’t stop looking at Mycroft in glasses.

Anthea gave a small smile while she collected the signed papers and pen and turned to leave the room. As soon as the door closed Greg tried to break the silence.

“Thank goodness I was still on top of the covers or she probably would’ve just shot me instead.” Mycroft looked at Greg. It was Greg’s turn for his mouth to go dry. Mycroft looked _very_ good in the reading glasses.

“I wouldn’t have let her.” Mycroft grinned.

“I should uh, go clean my teeth. Than I’ll get breakfast ready. Won’t be long.” Greg grabbed the bag of stuff Anthea had brought for him. He quickly brushed his teeth and washed up a bit before going to get changed.

 _Oh hell,_ he thought. _Of course she brought the one shirt I have that is a bit too small._ He looked around before realising that there was nothing for it and put it on. _She of course also packed the tightest pair of jeans that I have. Careful, Anthea. People might think you’re up to something._ He put those on as well and went to go make breakfast.

“Ok, Mycroft. Loo is all yours. I bought some eggs and toast yesterday, so I guess that’s what we’ll have. How do you like your eggs?”

“Over easy.” Mycroft looked quite flushed.

“Mycroft are you ok?” Greg rushed over to him. He put the back of his hand to his forehead which caused his bicep to flex. Mycroft thought he might faint.

“I just need another painkiller, I think.”

“Oh. Of course.” Greg quickly grabbed the bottle and glass of water. “Here you go. Take it easy.” He put his hand on Mycroft’s back as he said it and Mycroft could feel Greg’s hand burning on his bare skin.

“You going to be ok?” Greg asked quietly

“Yes.” Mycroft’s voice came out as a horse whisper.

“My?”

Mycroft suddenly looked to meet Greg’s eyes and his face was just right there and before he could think about it, Mycroft moved forward and kissed him. He kissed him hard and felt all of the air leave his lungs in the brief second that he touched Gregory’s lips. He quickly pulled back.

“Gregory I,” he was quickly cut off by Greg grabbing the back of his head and bringing it back to his.

Gregory was kissing him. Gregory wanted to kiss him and was kissing him and Mycroft had never been so thankful for a sprained ankle in all his life. Gregory suddenly nibbled slightly on his bottom lip and Mycroft’s mind went a bit blank. Now that this was happening he could admit that he had been wanting this to happen for ages. Almost from the first time he met the detective. He moaned when Gregory touched the tip of his tongue to his lips, asking permission for more, which Mycroft heartily granted.

The two stayed entwined like that for quite awhile. Both quietly moaning when one would play with the others hair or rub their hand over their chest. Mycroft wanted more and went to move closer, but had forgotten about his ankle and gasped in pain.

“Oh, Mycroft. Are you ok? I’m so sorry. That was so selfish,”

“Stop right there. I kissed you first. I’m the one who forgot about my bloody ankle.”

“I still feel bad, My. Let’s just take it easy and slow down. We shouldn’t rush this any way. Why don’t I go make breakfast?”

Mycroft didn’t want to take things slow. He wanted Gregory right now. Damn this ankle. He frowned. Greg chuckled and kissed him again.

“Don’t worry, Love. It won’t be for long.”

“Too long for my liking.” Greg chuckled again indulged in another kiss. He stopped before things got too heated.

“I’ll go make breakfast. I’ll be back soon. Here’s your crutches. Do you need help getting your pyjamas on? You are _practically naked under there._ ”

Mycroft blushed. His mind suddenly supplying that memory from last night. “I believe I can manage on my own Gregory.”

Greg chuckled and winked before heading out of the room to go make breakfast. Mycroft sighed and grabbed the crutches to help him out of bed and made his way to the closet.

Trying to pick out and put on pyjamas was a lot more difficult one-handed. He decided to start with his top half as that seemed to be easiest, but the problem was that now he had to try to balance on one foot while moving around the crutch and putting on his shirt and all of that proved to be just a bit too much because while trying to switch the crutch from one side of his body to the other, he tripped and fell.

Greg was downstairs in the kitchen, grinning like an idiot and cooking breakfast. He was whistling while frying up eggs and had just put the bread in the toaster when suddenly a cry of agony sounded throughout the house.

Greg bolted upstairs, intent on reaching Mycroft as quickly as he could.

“Mycroft!” Greg called to the empty bedroom.

“Oh! Shitting hell.” Greg paused, eyes wide. Shocked at the language he heard.

“My!” He moved towards the closet.

“Sweet fucking Mother of Christ! God Fucking Dammit!” Greg rushed over and knelt beside Mycroft.

“Oh. Mycroft. Here.” Mycroft was on the floor, cradling his ankle. Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s shoulders and gently tugged him so that he was resting between Greg’s legs.

“Fuuuuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. That reeeeaaallllyyy fucking hurt.”

Greg had never imagined Mycroft cursing like this. He was usually so completely in control. Then again, he hadn't ever imagined he could kiss him like they had been either. Mycroft was full of surprises. Hopefully breaking his already injured ankle wouldn't be one of them. “Shhhh. It’s ok. Here let me look. Can I get you anything, Love?” Greg carefully lifted Mycroft’s hand from his ankle and examined it. “It looks ok. That must have been so painful. I’m sorry, Love. I shouldn’t have left you.”

“It’s… not.. your fucking fault. Ugh.” He breathed deeply. “I’m fine just help me back to bed. I can put on my pyjamas there.

“Yes. Of course.” Greg carefully helped Mycroft up and they slowly hobbled to the bed. “There we go that’s better.” Mycroft carefully sat down but in his pain had completely forgotten about the ice pack that he had had on his ankle during the night and sat right on it.

“Verdammt! Scheisse! Das ist verdammt kalt!” Mycroft damn near screamed.

“Is that German?” Greg couldn’t help but ask.

“Yes. It’s bloody German. Because German sounds as angry as I feel.” He sighed. “I’m sorry Gregory. I’m not angry at you. You’ve gone above and beyond. I just… can’t stand not being able to take care of myself.” Greg gave a patient, loving smile.

“I know, Love. It’s very frustrating, but here, let me help you get dressed and you can lie back and relax while I take care of you.” He kissed his cheek.

“I’d rather you help me _undress._ ” Mycroft murmured.

“Oooo. Mr. Holmes. Don’t tempt me.” Gregory began kissing down his jawline and neck. Nipping whenever he thought appropriate. Mycroft sighed and began to lie back and relax into the pillows when suddenly the smoke detector went off.

“Fuck! Breakfast!” Gregory’s eyes were wide and panicked.

He rushed out of the room and down the stairs and Mycroft was sure that he had never had such a disdain for smoke alarms.

Giving a huff, he grabbed his pyjama bottoms and slid them on as quickly as he could before grabbing his crutches and hobbling down the stairs.

He got downstairs to the kitchen to find a great plume of black smoke. Through that he could make out Greg, swearing up a storm, frantically trying to open up the windows. The frying pan with the burnt, black eggs was sitting in the sink and burnt toast was tossed haphazardly towards the rubbish bin. Mycroft just stood there with wide eyes. Finally Greg turned around.

“Oh! Mycroft. God! I’mI’mI’m so sorry. I, uh, just give me a minute.” One of the eggs made a loud hissing noise in the sink. “For fuck’s… Mycroft. I’m so sorry. Oh my God. I almost set your bloody house on fire. God. I’ve ruined everything.” Mycroft could see tears forming in Gregory’s eyes.

“Gregory come here.” Greg trembled and walked slowly towards Mycroft. “It’s fine Gregory. No real damage has been done. I’m just glad you’re safe. Come here.” Mycroft opened an arm for a slightly awkward hug. Greg threw himself towards Mycroft, almost sending him toppling backwards.

“God. I’ve made a right mess of things.” Greg murmured into his shoulder.

“To be quite honest, I was more frustrated at the smoke alarm for interrupting us.” Greg huffed out a brief chuckle before pulling back slightly to survey the damage. He pulled his lips into a tight line.

“I’ve ruined your wallpaper.” He said nervously. They both stared at the scorched black paper above the stove.

“I’ve always hated that bloody wallpaper.”

 

**-Three Years Later-**

Mycroft walked into his house, setting down his briefcase and umbrella and stretching as he made his way to the now cozy, yellow kitchen.

“My, Love! You’re home.” Greg flashed Mycroft one of his huge smiles that always brightened Mycroft’s day. He continued to plate the pad thai that he had ordered for the both of them.

“You got dinner.” Mycroft walked around behind Greg and wrapped his arms around his waist. Greg relaxed into the hug.

“Well, Love, I do have to make sure that you’re eating properly. Did Anthea make sure that you took your multivitamin today?”

“Mmm.” Mycroft nodded distractedly. Greg went back to plating their take out.

“You’re thinking, My.” Greg smiled.

“That’s not unusual.”

“Smart arse. What are you thinking about this time, Love?”

Mycroft avoided Greg’s eyes, by shifting some errant papers on the counter.“The different names that you have for me. ‘My,’ ‘Love,’ I think when I had that fever awhile back you called me ‘Schnookums.’”

“You’d never be able to prove it in a court of law.” Greg was setting out the plates and getting out cutlery. “Why were you thinking about pet names, Schnookums?” Mycroft smirked. “Don’t you like them?”

“Yes, actually. For some reason, beyond logic, I do. I was just thinking… well, you have quite a few names for me, but I wonder if I could be very selfish and ask for just one more that you could call me?”

“What is it? Not something too kinky I hope. I really can’t see me calling anyone ‘Daddy.’”

“Gracious. Nothing like that. Something you’d be able to call me in public, actually.”

“Well? What is it?”

“I was thinking… ‘Husband?’”

Greg stopped what he was doing and dropped the cutlery onto the table. “What?”

Mycroft panicked. Perhaps he had got it wrong.

“Well, I mean you don’t have to. We could just…”

“Mycroft!”

Mycroft slowly allowed his eyes to draw up to meet Greg’s.

“Darling. Love. Schnookums. My... My Mycroft.” Greg drew close to Mycroft and held his head in his hands. “I would love to be able to call you ‘My Husband.’”

Greg had never seen a smile quite that big on Mycroft’s face.

“Nothing would make me hap… mmph.” Mycroft was too excited to hear the end of that sentence. He wrapped his arms around his fiance and brought his head down to meet his lips.

Mycroft knew that emotional attachments took time and energy away from his work. He also knew that they could hurt, but when you live in a house that is filled with as much love as his and you get to come home from work and snog your fiance senseless in your unstylish, but comfortable kitchen, emotional attachments seem all the more worth it.


End file.
